/lit/ - Literature

I once stayed with Sergey for a night, he was never the gracious host. His apartment was emaculate, not only in its state of cleanliness but the decor, God the decor; the subtle off-white finish on the skirting boards, the greco style ornaments adorning the ceiling, the tasteful marble countertops sourced from the Himalayas.

I was taking a midnight 'visit', taking in the city lights reflected off his apartment when I noticed a couch that I was sure was not their previously, it stuck out yet belonged. It completed the room, the Feng Shui gave me chills and I was drawn to it like a moth to the flame.

I slowly lowered myself onto the couch and the couch slide my panties to the side, why I had panties on and how the couch adjusted their position is still beyond me but what happened next awoke something in me I thought was not possible.

How could a couch plunge it's member into me? How could it feel so spectacular, how could it make me feel so complete? As a Muslim man, Allah had forbid me from seeking this pleasure but the couch knew what I wanted and gave it to me without a second ask.

I writhed in ecstasy to the pulsing of the full moon, engorged with the light of the sun reflecting off it. And before I knew it I had climaxed and awoke in my bed. 6 months on and I now it wasn't a dream, I was touched by an angel and now I feel it's progeny grow within me.

That's my story about how I became a gay muslim pregnant with Sergeys seed.